


The Butterfly Effect

by cherie_morte



Series: transwoman!Sam Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Trans, F/M, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Female Sam Winchester, Trans Sam Winchester, girl Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 21:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17169533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_morte/pseuds/cherie_morte
Summary: Dean goes to Stanford looking for his little brother. He doesn’t find his brother, but he does find Sam.





	The Butterfly Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brokenlittleboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/gifts).



> Written as a [spn_j2_xmas](https://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/) gift for [excoyote](https://excoyote.livejournal.com/). You listed trans!Sam as an interest and one of your prompts was “Sam has a secret.” As soon as I saw those things and that you were my recipient, I recalled a conversation we had in the comments to Metamorphosis in which you expressed a desire to bury yourself in a whole giant verse based on that Masquerade fill. I really hope a longer glimpse into that world is a good present and that you enjoy this! Happy happy holidays!
> 
> Please note that the POV character in this story has a very limited understanding of gender and sexuality and as a result many of the things he says or thinks, especially early in the story, are transphobic or at the very least transignorant. This was intended to produce a more realistic portrayal of his journey toward understanding Sam, but I know that it could be triggering for folks who have dealt with these kinds of viewpoints before. I wanted to flag that I am aware of the discomfort of these interactions and am working towards something better; if you feel you are able to join me on that journey and trust me to deliver on the promise that things will improve, I hope you will give this story a shot! But if you would prefer to skip potentially triggering content, there is another story in this verse, [Metamorphosis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11148162), which takes place at some point in the future when Dean has a more nuanced understanding of his sister and which is a softer, established portrayal of this relationship.

The bar is called Tartarus, and it’s a shithole. Proud to live up to its name in the tradition of countless dives just like this that Dean has seen dotted all across the lower 48: sticky floors, pool tables shoved in the corner, walls covered from floor to ceiling in stickers from local bands. The works. It’s the kind of place Dean isn’t sorry to say he feels most at home, but he is a little surprised Sam isn’t above it all these days.

It took three hours being sent from one office to another, with no one willing to share the information he needed due to student privacy restrictions, and more lying and empty flirting than he’s done on his last five hunts combined, but finally he managed to find this one lead.

Apparently, Sam works at this dump.

It’s kind of reassuring, if Dean is being honest with himself. Sam always used to ridicule places like this back when Dean dragged him along, rolling his eyes and huffing his bangs out of his eyes and muttering comments under his breath about how _hustling pool isn’t honest work_ and _normal families don’t celebrate every holiday under neon beer signs_ , but maybe this turned out to feel more like home than Sam expected.

If nothing else, Dean would bet the Impala that his little brother got a kick out of the name. Of course if Sam was gonna end up working at a bar, he managed to find one relevant to all those mythology books he spent his preteen years sticking his pointy, nerdy little nose into.

Looking around, it’s evident right away that the bar has a pretty specific marketing strategy. Every single person working behind the bar or waiting tables is a hot chick except for the bouncer checking IDs at the door. Which means Sam is likely also works security here, and if Dean didn’t see him on his way in, he’s probably not working tonight.

Still, this is all he has to go on, so if Dean is going to have to pump one of Sam’s seriously hot coworkers for information, that’s just a sacrifice he’s going to have to make.

He heads straight to the bar and leans forward until finally someone stops in front of him. The woman is drying a shot glass with a white towel as she looks Dean in the face and asks, “Can I help you?”

She’s the only employee who isn’t college-aged, probably hovering somewhere in the mid-to-high 40s, but she’s stacked and Dean takes a moment to appreciate looking her over before he replies, “I’m looking for someone.”

“That’s sweet,” she says. “But a little boy like you wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

He laughs. “Someone I heard works here. Sam Winchester.”

“You heard right,” she replies, setting the glass down and tossing the rag over her shoulder before putting her hands on her hips. “What do you want with Sam?”

“Sammy’s my brother,” Dean says. “Is he working tonight? Can you tell me where to find him?”

“Brother, huh?” Her face changes, from guarded to downright stony. “Sam wouldn’t like being called that.”

“What? Sammy?” Dean waves a hand at her. “I’m his brother, I get a pass.”

“I didn’t mean the nickname.” She shakes her head. “I’m thinking if Sam wanted you to know where to look, you’d know.”

“Listen,” he reads the tag on her shirt and continues, “Alice. Can I call you Alice?”

Alice shrugs.

“I guarantee if Sam knew why I was here, he would want me to know where he is.”

“I’ve got no way of knowing you’re really Sam’s brother at all,” she tells him, leaning forward on the bar in a way that’s almost menacing despite how much smaller she is than Dean. “And even if you are, the way you’re talking doesn’t sound all that respectful. I look after all my employees, and I’m not helping you find Sam unless Sam has given me express permission. So I’m afraid you’ve reached a dead end. You can order a beer, or you can turn right around and walk out of here.”

“How’m I being disrespectful?” he asks, not sure where the hostility’s coming from. Everyone at or around this hoity toity university is freaking paranoid about sharing other people’s information. He’d never get through a hunt if the general population was this suspicious.

“I gave you your options, son,” Alice says.

“Alright, I’ll have whatever’s on tap,” he replies, turning around to glance out at the people gathered at the bar, assessing who his next target should be. A waitress, maybe, someone far enough from the bar that Alice won’t interrupt, but likely to know Sam and where he spends his time when he’s not at work.

He loses sight of his mission as soon as he takes in the sights by the pool table. There’s a girl bent over it, sinking shot after shot, her little jean skirt getting tight over an ass that doesn’t seem to be planning to quit anytime soon every time she moves to a new spot and takes aim. She’s got long brown hair hanging down to the spaghetti straps of her pink tank top, which are stretched tight across built shoulders. She’s tall enough to tower over her opponent; Dean can’t tell if her cowgirl boots have enough lift or if the guy she’s playing is just really short, but it makes her legs appear to go on for years before they disappear under the denim.

There’s a crowd gathered around, watching as she cleans the bar’s filthy floor with her opponent. The guy and a few of his friends groan with displeasure every time she sinks a ball, but most of the onlookers are cheering her.

Dean takes that as a sign that she comes her often enough to be known, which gives him the excuse he needs to go over and talk to her. He can ask her about Sam _after_ he’s gotten under that skirt.

She’s sinking the 8 when Dean reaches her, which means she’s turned away from the side he slides in on, holding out her hand as the man she’d been playing glares and slaps a few bills into her palm.

“Looks like you need a worthy opponent,” Dean says, leaning back on the table, trying to catch her eye. “Or a drink.”

The girl goes rigid when she hears him and keeps her face turned away.

“I bet you’d be more interested if you looked at me,” he insists.

He thinks he sees her chest expand, like she’s taking a big breath and bracing herself for something, but it’s hard to tell from behind. Then she spins to face him, and Dean’s mouth drops open as he gets a look at her.

“Sam?” he asks, because Dean would know his little brother anywhere, could pick him out of a line-up with his eyes closed just by listening to the kid breathe. But he doesn’t know this.

Blue eyeshadow blinks down at him and glossy pink lips twist into a frown. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Sammy,” Dean says. “Why’re you…?”

“Dressed like this?” he asks. When all Dean can do is nod his head, Sam replies, “This is me.”

“What does that mean, ‘this is you’?” he demands. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” He ducks his face like he’s trying to hide it, then takes another long breath before he holds his head high again, the same determined look in his expression that was there the first time he shot a bullseye or picked a lock. “I’m a girl, Dean. I always was.”

“You can’t—you’re not,” Dean splutters moronically. “You’re my brother.”

“You don’t have a brother. You have a sister.” Sam gestures at himself and shrugs awkwardly. “Uh, surprise?”

Dean narrows his eyes and grabs Sam’s arm. “That’s all you have to say right now? ‘Surprise.’”

“I guess we’ve both gotten an unwelcome surprise tonight,” says Sam as he shakes off Dean’s hand. “You didn’t exactly announce yo—”

“Hey, Sam.” A blonde steps between them, her body turned towards Dean despite the fact that she’s talking to Sam. “Is this creep bothering you?”

She’s almost as tall as he is, and even though it’s kind of comical, the thought that Sam needs backup, a part of Dean is happy to see his brother’s had so many people who are loyal to him. Protective. It makes him pretty obsolete. 

_Sister?_ he corrects himself in his mind, but the thought’s too new and too big to commit to. Dean’s always had a brother, for as long as he can remember, that’s who he was. Not a whole person on his own. He was Sam’s brother. Sam was his. He knew some of that ended three years ago, but this puts things in a pretty harsh perspective.

“No, Jess, it’s fine,” Sam responds, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder to calm her. “He’s not a creep. He’s my brother.”

“Dean?” she asks immediately, her face lighting up and then dimming. “Oh. I’ll give you two some space.”

She leaves and Dean can’t even find it in himself to check her out before he turns his attention back to Sam. “I guess you told her more about me than you ever told me about you.”

Sam sighs, dropping the pool cue on the table next to them. “Let’s take this somewhere a little less public.”

Sam’s apartment is a few blocks off campus, settled about halfway between the student center and the bar. They walk there in near silence, only occasionally broken when someone says hello and Sam replies with a wave and a short greeting.

Apparently, Sam’s popular. Finally got the chance to stay somewhere more than a few months and put down roots that he always used to yearn for back in high school and instead of wilting, realizing he didn’t belong and running back to big brother, he thrived.

She. _She_ blossomed out of the dirt Dean planted his brother in. And to think he came here hoping to pluck Sam right back out.

“I should go,” Dean says, running his fingers over the one picture of Mom and Dad Sam has sitting on the mantle. There are no pictures of Sam in boy’s clothes, which means there’s no evidence that Dean existed at all. “You don’t want me here, do you?”

“You’re here,” Sam replies. Without the noisy bar chatter, Dean notices something about her speech, which has sounded different than he remembered, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. Sam’s tone is softer now, a few steps higher. Not noticeable enough of a change to pick up on, except that this kid was the soundtrack of his life. Now it’s a stranger’s voice. “You know. There’s nothing left to protect you from. We might as well have it out.”

“Protect me,” Dean says. When he rounds, Sam is leaning against the back of the couch, and it’s a bizarre overlay, the body language he knows comes naturally to his brother but mapped onto this feminine frame. “From what? Knowing my own little bro—”

“Please don’t,” Sam says. “Don’t call me that. I know you won’t understand, but it’s really painful, okay?”

“Fuck you,” Dean snaps. “You never gave me a chance to understand.”

Sam cuts her eyes away, looking down at the floor. “I know. And I’m sorry it had to be like that.”

“It didn’t have to be like anything,” he yells. “You made a choice.”

“I didn’t choose this,” she screams back.

They stare each other down for a few long seconds, and just when Sam’s expression changes from angry to sad, to those wet, pleading eyes that broke Dean’s resolve every damn time, a voice interrupts them, seeming to appear from nowhere.

“Sam, are you alright?”

Dean turns at the same time Sam does, taking in the preppy blond standing by an open bedroom door in boxers and a t shirt, looking like he just woke up.

“Shit,” Sam says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were home already.”

“Tell your roommate we need to talk alone,” Dean tells her.

“He’s not my roommate.” Sam crosses the room, slipping her arm around him and giving the guy a soft kiss on the lips before turning to look at Dean. “This is my boyfriend, Brady.”

Dean huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he mutters, “Unbelievable. So now you’re gay, too?”

“I’m _not_ gay,” Sam replies hotly. “I’m a straight woman, and I date men. Not that there’d be anything wrong with it if I was.”

“My problem isn’t,” Dean gestures between Sam and her boyfriend vaguely, “this. It’s that you were dating girls and wearing briefs the last time I saw you and you didn’t think I merited an update.”

“Babe, could you give us the apartment for a little bit,” Sam asks, turning to Brady. “You don’t need to be here for this.”

“You sure you’ll be okay?” he asks. He shoots Dean a smirk that Dean does not like one bit, but then, Dean doesn’t like any of this. “I don’t trust this guy with you.”

“Dean wouldn’t hurt me,” Sam responds, her voice hardly a whisper, but she meets Dean’s eyes across the room. “Right, Dean?”

Dean’s chest suddenly feels too tight and he can’t even look at her. She’s got no right, wearing that hero worship look she used to save for him. He’s nothing to her. “You’re not the one getting hurt here.”

Brady almost seems to be enjoying how tense the atmosphere is. He gives Sam a pat on the ass and his voice is upbeat when he says, “In that case. I was just thinking of heading over to Tartarus and grabbing a few drinks. I mean, I figured you’d be serving them, but I guess you had to end your shift early.” She nods to confirm it. “You can give me the details later.”

They both watch him disappear into the bedroom and stand in uncomfortable silence until he remerges a few minutes later dressed to go out.

Brady pauses as he passes Sam on his way to the door, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Just text when you want me home, baby.”

The quiet stretches on until the door closes behind him, and finally Sam says, “Why are you here, Dean?”

“Are you so upset to see me?” he asks. “Did I ruin your little paradise that much?”

“I’m not upset,” she says, infuriatingly calm and even, that voice Sammy used on the rare occasion when he was tired of fighting and just wanted to move on from something. “We both know you wouldn’t be here without a good reason, so can you just tell me what it is?”

If feels stupid now, flimsy. He’d come here really convinced he had a good reason to drag Sam back into this, but he can see it for the excuse it is held up to this bright new light Sam’s shining on him. The truth is, he wanted to see someone that doesn’t exist anymore. He’ll never see his baby brother again. He doesn’t know his baby sister.

Hell if he’s gonna admit any of that now.

“Dad’s gone,” he says, shrugging. “Not that I expect you to care.”

“Gone?” Sam asks. Her voice cracks as she asks, “He’s not…?”

“No,” Dean replies the instant he realizes what he made it sound like. “He’s not dead. At least, I don’t think he is. Just missing. Hasn’t checked in for a few days, left me a weird voicemail last time he did. I thought…if something got Dad, I could definitely use some backup trying to hunt it down.”

Sam tilts her head, and the way her bangs fall in her eyes isn’t new, even if the fact that the rest of her hair hangs well below her shoulders is. “And that backup was me?”

“I guess that was the plan.” He tries to give her a smile, but it feels weak even to him. “You and me on a hunt, just like old times.”

Sam swallows hard and looks to the floor again. “I can’t. I have an interview on Monday. It’s important.”

“An interview?” Dean laughs. “Some job more important than whether Dad’s alive?”

“It’s not for a job, its for law school,” she tells him, as if that really addresses his question. “It’s my whole future.”

“I’ll have you back by Monday, then,” Dean insists. “Come on, you and I obviously have a lot to catch up on.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she replies. “I can’t…see Dad. He wouldn’t. I can’t see him.”

Dean lets the rejection wash over him like it doesn’t hurt, because the truth is, he’s used to it by now. Three years ago, Sam leaving killed most of him, so there’s not a lot of him left to feel the sting. “Yeah, he’s probably fine anyway. Well, it was nice to see you. Enjoy your new life, I guess.”

He turns to leave, and Sam crosses the room quickly, grabbing him by the coat and spinning him around to face her. “When you find him,” she says, and now there are tears starting to form in her eyes as she begs him, “Don’t tell him. Please, Dean. Don’t tell him.”

“Sure, why should he get to find out who his kid is?” Dean shakes her off of him. “It was nice not knowing you, Sam.”

He doesn’t recognize the number when she calls thirty minutes later, which is just one more shitty metaphor for his shitty night. Despite the whirlwind of emotions he’s been stewing in since he pulled out of the parking lot, he answers. Unknown numbers happen a lot in Dean’s line of work, and if it’s someone calling because they need his help, ignoring the call could literally be condemning them to death.

As he’s accepting the call, he thinks it might even be Dad. He went missing in California and it’s a California number, so he’s hoping to hear John alive and well on the other end when he says, “Hello?”

There’s pounding in the background, yelling, and then he hears Sam’s voice, clearly in distress. “Dean!” she screams. “Dean, please, come help me.”

“Sammy, what the hell is going on?” he asks, already swerving the car around in the middle of a thankfully empty street. “I just left there.”

“Brady,” he hears over the line. “Dean, there’s a demon in him. I’ve got him trapped in a closet with salt, but I don’t know how long it’ll hold and I’m scared.”

“Listen to me,” Dean says, immediately snapping into a familiar role. “There’s nothing to be scared of, okay? I’m coming right now. I’ve got exorcisms. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Please hurry, Dean.” He can hear her crying over the phone. “He’s too strong for me alone. I can’t hold him much longer.”

“Ten minutes,” he says, giving the gas all he can and listening to the Impala purr to life. “Just give me ten minutes.”

The door is unlocked, and Dean doesn’t waste any time checking the pile of yellow dust on the ground to confirm that it’s sulfur. He bursts into the room and sees Sam with her back against a door that’s rattling, and he can hear the demon shouting insults at her.

“You fucking freak, did you think your brother would save you? He hates you. I saw how he looked at you. With disgust, like you deserve. You have any idea how hard it’s been all these months, trying to pretend to love a thing like you?”

The apartment is a disaster area, shattered glass and overturned furniture where there was a neat, cozy, _safe_ life less than an hour ago.

“I’m here,” Dean calls, so Sam can see how wrong that thing in the closet is. “Sammy, I’m here.”

“Dean,” she says, turning to look in his direction. Dean can see that her face is soaking wet, with tears hanging off her chin. “Thank god.”

“God doesn’t give a fuck about you, you ugly bitch,” the closet yells. “You’re an embarrassment to him. The only people you’ll ever belong with are things like me.”

She covers her ears and sinks to the floor, seeming to let some of the fight drain out of her now that Dean is here. “Make him stop,” she begs. “Please make him stop.”

“I’m here, Sam,” he promises, rushing to her side and taking her into his arms. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Oh, good,” Brady shouts. “Now you can tell your big bro all about what you want him to do to you. See if he’s still so nice once he knows you spent the last year pretending my dick was his.”

Dean gently nudges Sam to the side and stands up, reaching for the knob. She rises to her feet immediately, blocking him. “What are you doing?”

“Uh,” Dean replies. “We can’t keep him locked in there forever.”

“Killing him won’t stop the thing that’s inside him,” she insists, still shielding the door with her body. “Please, Brady is in there. He could still be alive.”

“I have an exorcism,” Dean tells her, lifting his hand so she can see that he’s got a book and holy water, not a weapon. “I think it should work. I’ve never—never hunted a demon before, but this is the best chance we’ve got.”

Sam hesitates a few moments longer until finally she nods, moving out of the way.

He hands her the holy water and says, “He’s not gonna stand around and let us send him back to Hell. This will get uglier before it gets better. I can’t promise we won’t have to hurt him.”

“I know, Dean,” she says. She nods solemnly. “We have to do this.”

Dean flings the door open and immediately moves to the side, anticipating the way the demon runs out at them as soon as the salt line is broken. Sam hits it with a line of holy water that makes it cry out, smoke starting to rise off it, and that gives Dean the break he needs to start reading out the Latin Caleb texted him as he was speeding his way back here.

The demon’s taunts aren’t nearly as creative as before. It writhes on the floor as Sam continues to pour water on it and tells them all the exciting things it plans to do with their insides.

All-in-all, it’s over in less than five minutes, but they feel endless, with lights flickering, random items flying at them, Sam occasionally having to punch the thing to keep it down. Watching how hard this is for her is the worst part, and when the smoke cloud finally is forced from her boyfriend’s lips and back to where it came from, she slumps with exhaustion, holding Brady in her arms.

“Sam,” Brady whispers.

She gasps, sitting up, looking into his face. “You’re alive.”

“Is it gone?” he asks. “Is that thing really gone?”

“Yeah, baby,” she says through a relieved sob, and Dean’s heart cracks, because she can’t see him from where Dean’s standing. The angle of his neck. They were way, way too late. “It’s gone. You’re okay now.”

“Made me hurt you,” Brady says. Dean can hear how labored the words are, but Sam still doesn’t seem to get it, not from the way she smiles and passes her fingers through his hair. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t stop it. Not any of it.”

“Shh,” she says. “It’s okay now. I’ll be fine. No one’s gonna be hurt by that thing again for—”

“Wasn’t true what it said,” he interrupts. Maybe Brady knows what Dean can’t bring himself to point out. He’s trying to get everything settled while he still can. “You’re so beautiful, Sam. The most beautiful. And I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she says, wiping tears away with the back of her hand before she wraps it around him again. “We’re gonna get you to a hospital. It’s all gonna be—”

“I couldn’t stop it,” Brady says again, and then his head lolls over to Dean until their eyes meet. “When you asked me to leave tonight, so you could talk to him. Tartarus. Sam, I don’t think it was empty.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asks. “You’re not making any sense.”

Brady shuts his eyes then and Sam’s face changes as realization dawns on her.

“Brady?” she asks, shaking him lightly. The way his head bobs absently is something Dean has seen too many times. “Brady?” she screams again, shaking him harder, and becoming hysterical as she continues to shout for him.

Finally, Dean can’t watch it anymore. He steps forward, pulling her into his arms, and she collapses against him, sobbing.

They spend about a week milling around Palo Alto, closing the book on Sam’s happy life. That’s how long it takes to tie up all the loose, bloody ends that demon left behind.

Tartarus is a pile of ash by the time they get there, which Dean might have chuckled at if this were any other job. Name a bar after Hell and it ends up in flames. It’s practically an Alanis Morsette lyric.

Alice had a husband, and he’s already there, claiming his dead. There’s only one other casualty. One employee who stayed after last call that night to help Alice with closing.

That one falls on Sam. Dean watches as his sister goes through the motions, completely in shock from the night’s events. Yes, that’s Jessica Moore. Yes, she recognizes the butterfly tattoo that’s the only part of her friend left intact enough to identify. Sam was with her when she got it. It was Jess’s 21st birthday, and they were already drunk, and Jess liked it because it reminded her of Sam.

Jess and Dean shared a birthday, he learns. She was the first person Sam ever came out to. She was a better friend than anyone deserved.

Sam doesn’t say much that week, but every now and then, when they’re driving and she’s staring idly out the window, or poking at her diner meal because Dean insisted on getting her something to eat, or lying with her back to him on the other motel bed, she’ll say something completely unprompted. He gathers a lot of facts about the life she hid from him this way, and he memorizes each one, hoping that if the knowledge lives in both of them, it’ll somehow be less lost to her.

She should have known, that’s the one Dean hears from her the most. Brady changed last spring, and she should have known that he wasn’t her Brady. He’d been cruel at times, had gotten into drugs, his studies fell by the wayside. Brady had been a few years ahead of Sam, already a law student, and on probation due to his grades after a lifetime of straight As.

But Sam thought he was hurting, that if he had someone there to love and understand him, it would get better. She’d been hurting and Jess had seen her, had helped her learn what steps to take to become who she really was. She wanted to be there for Brady like that.

If she’d just known sooner, she says it multiple times a day. She could have saved Alice and Jess, even if that demon snapped Brady’s neck the moment it crawled into him. She could have saved her best friend, and she didn’t.

Grief and guilt consume his sister until it builds to anger, and Dean is left to be the clear mind, to make sure this doesn’t ruin Sam’s life anymore than it already has.

He slips away from the fire when Sam is still talking to the police, stages the suicide. They get lucky in one thing and one thing only: a group of freshmen wandering home from an all-night paper writing session at the library had seen someone set the fire, and when the cops show them Brady’s pictures, they recognize him.

The broken neck confirms the hanging. People who knew Brady mention how erratic and occasionally almost violent his behavior lately had been. The story becomes that he started a blaze at his girlfriend’s job after a lover’s spat got out of hand, then came home and offed himself. Sam denies it, murmuring about how Brady would never, but the cops take more note of the bruises and cuts all over her face, the obvious trauma she’s going through, and the state of disarray in the apartment than of her weak denials. Dean feels bad dragging the guy’s name through the mud, but he can’t let Sam take the fall, and the dead body in her apartment is either going to get painted as her tormentor or her victim. The truth can’t exist here. The cops wouldn’t buy it. So he tells them about how his sister had called him in a panic over the fight, and he’d arrived just in time to break it up, after which Brady left in a fury. Even his call log supports the lie.

No one ever thinks to point a finger at Sam, except for Sam. 

They leave after that week, because there’s nothing left for Sam at Stanford. When Dean had arrived in Palo Alto, he’d had small but powerful hopes that Sam wouldn’t just leave with him to find Dad but would leave with him forever. Him and his brother, cruising the USA, hunting monsters, like it was always supposed to be. By the following Saturday, he’s got a sister instead of a brother, and yes, he gets to keep her, like he’d dreamed. Irrationally, he feels responsible, for wanting her with him so much, as if all of this happened just to grant his wish.

Three more men are dead by the time they reach Jericho. Men who might have lived if Sam had come with him that first night looking for Dad. He doesn’t have the energy left to mourn for their loss. Those scumbags had been unfaithful and got punished for it. All Sam did was love. And yet she’s as much a ghost these days as the woman in white they waste.

They don’t find Dad, just the path of breadcrumbs he left for them. They follow it because they don’t know what else to do.

The nightmares get worse after Bloody Mary. Sam hadn’t been sleeping great before, which was different but to be expected with everything she’d been through, but the shit really hits the fan after Mary catches a glimpse of her in that mirror.

Dean still doesn’t know what the secret was, and he doesn’t bother trying to guess at this point. There was a time he thought he knew Sam inside out, that the kid could never get away with hiding anything from him. But it turns out that even then, she was living day in and day out wrapped up in her secret.

He can’t protect her from things he doesn’t know about, but nightmares he can do. He’s got practice.

She wakes up for the fourth time tonight screaming Jess’s name. It was Brady’s the first time and nothing in particular, just a scream, the two after that. She’s got plenty of horrors to rotate out these days, and Dean knows not all of them are new.

Dean watches her shoot up in bed, looking around their motel room urgently for half a minute or so before her breathing begins to slow and she sinks back into her pillows.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sometimes, he pretends to be asleep. So she won’t feel bad for waking him. Four times in one night is a little much even for that.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she says. “I’m fine. Just. A nightmare.”

“Just a nightmare, huh?” Dean asks. He turns over in bed to face her, but her back is to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He sees her whole body move when she shakes her head. She doesn’t ever want to talk to Dean about it. It’s hard to believe there was a time when Sam used to chase him down, asking him to express his feelings.

This isn’t getting them anywhere, and Dean has tried to fight his instincts long enough. He stands up, grabbing his pillow, and crosses the room, nudging Sam’s back when he reaches her bed.

“Dean?” She rolls over to glare at him. “What are you doing?”

“Move it, bitch,” he says. “That’s my side.”

She smiles weakly at their old call-and-response. “You have your own bed, jerk.”

Even as she protests, she shifts, making room for Dean to drop his pillow behind her and slip under the covers. Once he’s there, he takes one more risk, reaching out for her. She doesn’t pull away. In fact, she snuggles closer, until her head is resting on Dean’s chest.

It’s nothing like it used to be back when Sam was so small that Dean could curl around his little body, making sure he was protected on all sides. Sam’s a giant now; it's much less comfortable to try to envelope her, and Dean knows he won’t be falling asleep any time soon.

But Sam sighs softly, and before long, her breathing evens out. Dean’s little brother always ran to him after nightmares, crawled into his bed uninvited, and slept easy while Dean stayed on guard. Apparently, that’s something his little sister didn’t outgrow.

“So, the cop has Becky in cuffs and Jess is next for sure, and I’m drunk enough that I’m yelling all this crazy shit at him about what I’ll do if he touches her, so I’m obviously not making a friend here.” Sam pauses her story to wipe tequila from her mouth and then gives Dean a boozy grin. “That’s when Zach and Brady show up. They’d had mock trial earlier in one of their classes, so they were in suits with their little briefcases and everything. They tell the cop they’re our lawyers. And they start talking in this gibberish of legal jargon, inventing reasons Becky was acting within the law.”

“He bought it?” Dean asks.

“They were feeding off each other so good that I kind of bought it,” Sam admits, laughing. “None of us got arrested but Becky, Jess, and I definitely got the hangovers we deserved the next morning.”

“Well, I gotta hand it to you, Sammy,” Dean says, smirking as he sucks a lime and downs his own shot. “Rowdy parties and drunken brushes with the police. I never thought my nerdy little brother—” He realizes his mistake as soon as Sam winces, and rubs his mouth. “Shit, Sam, I’m sorry. I meant—”

“I know,” she says, giving him a strained smile. “I know what you meant.”

“I’m really sorry,” he tells her again, trying to catch her eye. “Sam, I’m trying. Please don’t be mad.”

She shakes her head and puts her hand over his. “I’m not mad, Dean. I can’t tell you how much it means that you’re making the effort. I thought for a long time you wouldn’t…”

Dean swallows hard, wanting to kick himself for being so stupid. Sam was laughing, getting drunk to celebrate the first case they’ve had that truly felt like a win. She got to see her friends from school, recapture at least some of who she was before that life went up in smoke, and apparently repay Zach an old debt by clearing him for those murder charges. Everything was going so goddamn great until Dean put his foot in his mouth.

“I know it’s not fair to you,” she says after a long period of thought, her voice very quiet and very far away. “But I thought you might hate me if you found out. That’s not…I didn’t hide it from you, back when I was a kid. I knew to some degree, but I didn’t understand that it was okay, that there wasn’t something wrong with me. I didn’t know there were whole communities of people like me. I thought I was just confused, or a freak, or, I don’t even know.” She scrubs her big hand over her face. “Dean, if I understood the way I do now back then, I think I would have come out to you. I want you to know that. But I won’t pretend it wasn’t easier that I figured it out after I let you go. That clean break…I thought maybe it was for the best. I couldn't have handled your disappointment or refusal to accept me. I couldn’t have survived that from you.”

Dean moves closer to her, putting a hand in her hair and drawing her in until her head is resting on his shoulder. He kisses the crown of it and whispers, “I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel like you had room to learn about yourself. I should have done what Jess did. I should have seen you and helped you figure it out.”

“You did more for me than anyone could ask from a brother,” she says, sitting up to look him in the eye. “You know that, right?”

He looks away, suddenly fascinated with the hideous diamond pattern on the motel rug. There are so many times he must have hurt her. So many stupid, thoughtless insults about how Sam was acting like a girl, as if that was weakness. It’s not so hard to see why she didn’t think she could trust him.

"Sammy, would you still have run away if I'd understood you sooner? Did you go to school so you could be...free?" Dean trips over the last word for a moment, hating that he's starting to understand that staying with him would have meant the opposite. All he ever was to her was a prison.

"I honestly don't know," she admits. "I can't say if things would have been different if I had really been your brother. I've never lived in that universe. But. I think I still would have wanted to. Knowing I was different than you and Dad thought I was or wanted me to be," she licks her lips, "I won't pretend it wasn't a factor. But it's not the only reason I left. Maybe it gave me the impetus. Maybe I would have stayed otherwise, and I would have resented you for it. What's the point of wondering?"

Dean doesn't answer her, because there are parts of him that he doesn't want her to know, just like there was so much of her she tried to hide. He can't change what happened now, she's right, but he still lies awake at night, turning over the same question he tortured himself with for three years. What could he have done differently to make her stay? What did he do to push her so far away? Was it him that screwed up, or was it...?

“Is that why you don’t want Dad to know?” Dean asks. “You think he’ll hate you?”

“He already disowned me for wanting to go to college,” she replies, sinking back until she’s sitting with her back propped on the bed and her knees pulled to her chest. “Do you really see John Winchester taking the time to learn how to process that his little soldier was a princess all along?”

“You’re not being fair to him,” Dean tells her. “Just like you weren’t being fair to me.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you think he wouldn’t just decide this was a stupid choice and ignore it.” Sam ducks her head to make sure she catches Dean’s eye, and when Dean looks away, she laughs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“He’d be…it would be hard for him,” Dean admits. “At first. But eventually—”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to do that,” she says. “I can’t take it. I already put up with so much just from strangers on the street. I don't want to put up with it from him, and I shouldn't have to. The years of fighting and the things he would say to me in between, just on the off chance he might eventually come around to treating me like a person.” She shakes her head, loose brown locks flying everywhere. “He didn’t earn that. You. You deserved the chance. I’m glad—whatever else happened—I am glad you know me now, Dean. But Dad? Dad already cut me loose. And it hurt enough the first time.”

“And yet, you’re helping me try to find him,” Dean points out.

Sam blinks a few times, then shrugs. “He’s still my father. I don’t want him to be dead or lost.”

“You just want to be dead and lost to him,” Dean finishes for her.

“Harsh way to put it,” she says, but she doesn’t disagree.

Dean stares at the bottle of Jose Cuervo, wondering if that last shot is what made their pleasant evening take such a sour turn, and as he’s doing so he finds himself asking, “When did you know, Sam?”

“I always knew,” she says. “I mean, I always felt like I was a girl. But I didn’t understand it until…do you remember, when I was eleven or twelve, we were in Wisconsin or Minnesota or one of those midwestern states. Can’t remember anymore. We moved so goddamn much. There was this succubus.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean says. “Wisconsin. Oshkosh.”

Sam picks up her story, “The succubus was kidnapping young girls to turn them into succubi. Dad got the idea to use you as bait so he could catch her in the act.”

“He made me dress up like…” Dean realizes the sneer he’s wearing and his sour tone are exactly the kind of thing he shouldn’t be doing, so he tries to sound more neutral. “I dressed up like a girl and he tried to pass me off, but she never showed.”

“He thought you were too old and that’s why she wasn’t fooled. Too far along in puberty to pass for a girl, so the next night—”

“You put on that dress and she showed right away,” Dean recalls.

Sam nods. “Dean, she didn’t come for me because I was younger than you.”

“She came because you were a girl,” he says as he pieces it together. He bows his head. “How did I miss that? Fuck. I should have known. Should have known so many times. I could have made things easier for you.”

“I could have made things easier for me, too,” she says. “No use mourning it now.”

“This was the secret, wasn’t it?” Dean asks as he drops his duffel on the bed nearest to the door. “The one Bloody Mary had on you.”

Sam enters the room and is just as direct as Dean had been, crossing to the farther bed and ditching her stuff. They’re both exhausted from the hunt and, truth be told, now is maybe not the time for Dean to initiate this conversation. His mind is still reeling from all the revelations of today: Sam’s dream, mom’s ghost, the house he thought he’d never set foot in again trying to finish the job it started when he was four years old. They managed to get caught in a storm on their way into the motel, and what they both need is a warm shower and sleep.

Thing is, he’s too drained to even think before he brings it up.

“Yes,” Sam admits, heading into the bathroom and remerging with two towels. One she tosses to Dean and the other she uses to wring rainwater out of her hair. “I saw Jessica die before it happened. I saw the fire. I even saw Brady’s eyes go black in a dream once. They were all so vivid. I thought it was just my very fucked up brain processing everything that was going on with him. Just normal nightmares, you know? But I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it. I ignored the dreams. I was so desperate to have just one part of me that was normal.”

“You’ve been carrying that guilt around this whole time?” Dean asks, throwing his towel aside once he’s dried himself as much as possible and sinking down until he’s sitting at the end of his bed. “Sam, how could you have known you were some kind of psychic? You can’t blame yourself for those deaths. That demon set that fire. The demon broke Brady’s neck. None of it’s on you.”

“Really?” she asks. “Because all I had to do was pay attention to my nightmare today and we saved that woman and her kids. All I had to do was pay attention.”

Dean leans forward enough to catch Sam’s hand and he drags her over until she’s sitting next to him on the bed. “None of it was your fault.”

“Do you still not get it?” she hisses. “All of it is my fault. That demon took Brady to get to me. He killed Jess to hurt me. He…he…” Sam turns to face Dean, and a tear slips down her cheek. “Dean, before you got there, he said something. I didn’t want to tell you because it’s so horrible, but I think it’s true.”

He wipes her tear away with his thumb. “What is it, Sammy?”

“Mom was my fault, too.” She lets out a sob and twists her hands. “He said she died because of me. And the way she her ghost talked to me today. I just know it’s true.”

“You were an infant,” Dean says, taking her hands so she’ll stop working herself into a frenzy. “How could it have been your fault?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replies. She flinches when there’s a thunder clash outside. “I just know that it feels true.”

“That demon was saying all kinds of awful things,” Dean reminds her. “He was just trying to hurt you. None of it was true, so why would this be any different?”

“All of it was true,” she whispers.

“He said—” Dean furrows his brow and shakes his head. “Maybe you don’t remember. There was a lot happening at the time.”

“He said that I was in love with you.” Sam turns her face away so fast that a fat tear drop falls, landing on Dean’s hand where it’s still tangled with hers. “That I always have been.”

The silence that hangs between them after she says that is suffocating, but Dean can’t find the right way to respond. Shock, maybe. Not relief. Not a sense of rightness, like this was always going to happen and now it finally has. Disgust is what he’s supposed to feel.

He can’t bring himself to fake it, to let her feel isolated and self-loathing for wanting something Dean encouraged. Not after months of waking with her body in his arms, cock so hard he can’t think straight. Not after watching her drift through a thousand motel rooms in the early morning when she thinks he’s still asleep, seeing how she rises from his side, the sun catching in her hair as she stretches, Dean’s breath catching just as much. Not when he still finds himself replaying all those depraved ideas he got when he saw her in that bar before he knew who she was. The first thing he ever said to his sister was a goddamn pick-up line, and now it’s on him to act repulsed?

Sam is still watching him for a reaction, and when he doesn’t have one, she tries to pull away. Instead of letting her, Dean reaches out, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“He said you weren’t beautiful,” Dean tells her. Lightning flashes across her face, so he waits a few moments for the thunder to pass before he goes on. “That it wasn’t easy to love you. How could anything so stupid ever be true?”

“Dean,” she replies, leaning closer to him. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

He shakes his head, because he can’t say it. Not that. Not to Sam. He can’t ruin what they’re just starting to get back.

“You want me too,” she tells him. “The way you just looked at me. I know that expression on your face. I used to agonize over it when I was a little girl. How you’d look at waitresses and cheerleaders and random women on the street like that and never me. I never thought you’d look at me like that. But you did. I know what it means.”

“Of course you do,” he says, trying to laugh off how much this is killing him. “Always were too smart for your own good.”

“So say it.” She holds his cheek in the palm of her hand, eyes fixed on his as she waits, and when Dean is too chickenshit to move, she demands, "Say it."

"Kiss me," he whispers.

Sam is utterly oblivious to the storm outside, and the one that's shaking Dean inside, almost overpowering how much he wants this. She whispers, "yes, yes, yes" until her lips brush against his and if there's anything like shame in her words, Dean can't hear it like he feels it.

She's tentative at first, testing, the only sign that she might know even a fraction of the hesitation Dean is drowning in. His baby sister is gentle with him, unfathomably sweet as she does the terrible thing he asked of her.

She doesn't stay that way for long. Her lips are soft and Dean opens to them; he can't help it. She moves then, shifting until she's straddling his lap so she can get a better angle, kiss him deeper.

Dean is only human. She's something bigger. A man can't fight the gravity of a star he's been circling his entire life, no matter how much he should.

He brings his arm up to grip her side and lets one hand get lost in her long hair. She makes a quiet, happy sound and turns her face into his hold, like how she used to turn toward him when he rocked his little brother to bed. This would be easier for him if he could force a separation, but she's his Sam and his Sam is what he wants.

He's so fucked up it's probably contagious. He did this to her. And he's having a hard time feeling sorry about it.

Dean takes control then, turns them around so that she's lying flat on the bed and he's hovering above her, looking down at her red cheeks and fox eyes.

She opens her legs just wide enough for him to fit between them, the invitation clear. It's not what a lady would do. Dean should have raised her better.

"Sam," he warns, looking too closely as she shifts so that her skirt will fall up, exposing the red lace panties she has on under it. “God, Sam, I can’t stop.”

She takes his hand and places it on her dick, waiting for him to react. He does. He turns his fingers to brush along the hard length of her and she closes her eyes, letting out a long breath.

“I’ve learned a lot since I was your little brother,” she tells him, opening her eyes to look him directly in his. “Let me show you how much I can do now. All those other girls, Dean, they didn’t know how to treat you. They didn’t know how much you deserve. Only I know.”

Dean kisses her again, running his hands up and down her body, until he finally finds the courage to push her shirt up and expose her. She’s got a powder pink bra on over the modest rise of her chest, a much lighter shade than the pink of her cheeks when she notices what he's staring at.

“I know there’s not much,” she says, like she has something to apologize for.

Dean won’t have that. He moves down, kissing her lips briefly before making his way from her jaw to her neck to her tits.

He lifts the fabric up and licks inside, teasing the tip of her nipple as he does so. She laughs and lifts herself off the bed, saying his name like they’re playing one of those games he invented to keep her entertained as a kid.

He hardly registers her grasping for the zipper of his jeans until she’s worked his cock out and started to stroke him.

“Want you inside of me,” she tells him. “Want your fingers. Want your cock. Want all of you, Dean.”

“Fuck,” he curses. He turns around, looking to his duffel at the end of the bed. “I’ve got condoms, but no lube.”

“No condom,” she insists. “Lube is in my bag. I use it when I think about you. Get so wet dreaming of my big brother.”

“I kind of get around, Sam,” he says, climbing off of her to grab the bottle of lube she has hidden in her duffel. “We should use protection.”

“I need to feel you,” she says, sounding so needy that Dean can’t deny her whatever she’s asking for. She sits up, unhooking her bra and shyly covering her chest with her hands as she tosses it aside.

“Let me see you.” Dean lies down next to her, popping the cap on the lube and spreading it on his fingers. “Don’t hide anymore. Not from me.”

Sam lets go, her small breasts just hardly bouncing as she releases them. She’s so beautiful it’s debilitating, and she ends up having to be the one to take Dean’s hand and guide it, pushing her panties to the side so that the wet tip of his finger is resting on her hole.

“Finger me with my skirt on, like you used to do to the cheerleaders on the bleachers.” Dean feels himself going red as he realizes she’d been watching him all those years ago, and she just keeps running her mouth. “God, I wanted to be them so bad. Wanted to be easy for you. Used to sit at the dinner table next to you, across from Dad, wishing your fingers were pushing into me underneath.”

She grabs both of her tits and squeezes them, exaggerating the size, nipples peeking out from between her fingers as she feels herself up and circles her hips, fucking herself on Dean’s fingers.

“Wanted you to pin me up against the wall in a supply room. Wanted you to bend me over every couch we ever sat and watched bad horror movies on. Wished you would fuck my mouth in the back of that car. Wanted you to make such a slut out of me, Dean. You have no idea what it was like. Growing up next to you. Horny all the time for something I thought I’d never have.”

“ _Sammy_." Dean is a little embarrassed when he hears how he says it, like some scandalized old lady. But who would have ever thought that his bookworm baby sister had this inside of her the whole time?

She laughs, putting her hands on his face and dragging him down for a kiss. They make out as he adds another finger and begins to fuck her like he’d fuck any of those girls, eager to get inside and make her cry on his dick.

“Turn over,” he tells her.

She goes easily, making good on her dirty talk, showing Dean that she’ll let him have her any way. Her ass is on display, angled up in the air as she settles on her stomach.

Dean pulls her panties down with one hand and shoves into her, feeling like he’s on fire and she’s the only thing that can put it out. The way she screams “yes” when he buries himself in her completely echoes through him, as if it’s his pleasure she’s expressing instead of her own.

He isn’t gentle with her. He doesn’t fuck her like he loves her. Because this is how it is with him and Sam, how it’s always been, regardless of whatever else changes: Dean has to give her what she wants. It’s more instinct to him than survival. She asked him to use her, so he wears her the fuck out.

Sam grasps her cock, jerking herself with the same vigor Dean is thrusting into her. He wraps an arm around, snaking it under hers, and grabs one of her tits. Sam whines and Dean shuts her up with his mouth.

She doesn’t have to tell him if it’s good for her. They have a language that goes beyond words, so Dean reads her bliss in the feel of her toes curling as her feet touch his, the pattern of her breathing, and her spoiled younger sibling drive, the way she pushes her ass back to impale herself just right, taking without any regard for Dean. He wants to give. All he's ever wanted was to give to her until there was nothing left of him. He was nothing when she went to school, leaving him with no one to sacrifice for, ready to make something for herself instead of just accepting what Dean gave. Now he's something again.

He knows when she’s going to cream, so he grabs her ass and pulls closer, fingers digging into the meat and spreading her wider. He bottoms out with a powerful thrust, making sure to hit her sweet spot directly.

Under him, she collapses onto the bed as she starts to shoot, moaning nonsense until Dean presses his mouth to her ears and whispers, “It’s okay, Sammy. I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m always gonna be right here.”

“Dean,” she whispers.

“I’m gonna come too,” he tells her. “I’m gonna fill you up until there’s no part of you that isn’t me, and then I’m gonna keep going, make you leak.”

“Do it,” she begs. “Come inside me. Please. I need it.”

Dean fucks her another half minute or so before it’s too much and his balls draw tight, ready to spill. “God, Sam, I’m coming. You feel that?”

“Yeah,” she says, panting as his thrusts get faster, more shallow, beyond his control because he needs to finish, he can’t think of anything except the clench of her around him and how fucking hot she’ll be when she’s marked with his seed. “Want every drop.”

Dean gives her all he’s got. He pulls out after, falling to the side, and she curls around him, head pillowed on his chest, leg thrown over his. He looks down at the face watching him, and she looks sweet again, innocent, the same girl who’s been sleeping in his arms for months without anyone trying anything. Except that she’s still half naked and there’s spunk on her stomach starting to cool.

“You’re the best big brother ever,” she teases, stretching up just enough to catch his lips in a quick kiss goodnight. Then she yawns and resumes her position. “I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight.”

Dean wakes up in yesterday’s clothes. His jeans are open at the top and there’s someone lying on his arm. Granted, he’s used to waking up with Sam these days, but this person is not wearing a top, and Dean remembers what happened in the same moment that he realizes _what happened_.

He fucked his little sister. The one person in the world he was supposed to look out for. There was one person off-limits to him, and he got off on her like she was someone he found on the street. She was scared and she was vulnerable and some thing from Hell had her convinced she was a monster. She shared all of those things with Dean. All he heard when she spilled her heart was that he could take something from her that he didn’t deserve.

She’s already awake, looking up at the ceiling and picking idly at the dried come on her belly. She looks…far away. All these months of mourning, she was finally coming back to him, and now Dean has driven her away.

"I'm sorry," he says.

She blinks a few times, still working her way to wakefulness, and rubs the sleep from her eyes as she asks, "You're sorry? What are you sorry for?"

"Last night," he clarifies. "What I did to you last night."

"Last night," she repeats, sitting up. Dean watches her look over the bed, the mess they made, the tangle their bodies are still in. Her lips turn like she's going to be sick and Dean would give anything to take back the memory she's replaying. "You're sorry?"

It's not enough. It's clear from her tone how inadequate an apology is in the wake of what he did to her.

"It was a mistake," he assures her.

"A mistake." She looks away from him, and Dean realizes there are tears welling up in her eyes.

"Sammy, I'm so sorry," he says, reaching out for her.

She recoils from him like he's toxic, and he knows he deserves it.

"Don't touch me," she says as the tears start spilling over. "Don't you ever touch me again."

He watches dumbstruck as she rises from the bed, taking the sheets to cover herself. He listens from the other side of the bathroom door while she cries, loud enough for the sound to carry, and wonders if a demon got inside him, too.

By the time she leaves the bathroom, Sam has apparently resolved to never talk about it again. It feels too easy, but it’s Dean's preferred method of dealing with fucked up messes in their lives, and she’s usually the one pushing back. So he goes with it. Instead of spending a miserable day dealing with the consequences of what he did, Dean sits down with his sister and they spend a pleasant afternoon choosing their next hunt. Dean feels like Sam gave him a get out of jail free card on this one.

They choose a haunted asylum, and Sam ends up with a ghost in her, one the confirms for Dean all the things she hates about him after what he did to her. They start fighting, small stuff at first, but it becomes more constant, until suddenly they’ve had it out so bad that Sam tells him to drop her on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere, and Dean is so pissed he does it, and he doesn't even realize what an insane fucking thing to do it was until he’s sitting at a restaurant alone, poking a slice of pie he's pretty sure is made from apples someone sacrificed human lives to grow.

She comes back to him, though. She always comes back to him. He doesn’t know if it’s loyalty or some kind of sickness, but he’s grateful for it either way. He did living without her once. He can’t live through that again.

They end up in South Beach, just in time for it to be a few degrees too cold for shorts and tank tops, and Dean complains about the timing as Sam laughs at him, pulling him along.

“A haunted museum, though, Sam,” he says. “Seriously? This is like porn for you, isn’t it?”

“Shut up and try not to sound like a total pervert, please,” she tells him. “Remember, we want these people to talk to us, and this used to be a synagogue.”

“You know a little about the building already.”

Sam turns at the same time as him, until they’re both facing the walking, talking sweater vest who addressed them. Short, with brown hair and bushy eyebrows, and okay, he’s not hideous, but Dean decides he hates the guy’s face the moment he catches the way he’s smiling at Sam.

“I’m sorry,” says the sweater vest. “I couldn’t help overhearing that last thing you said. You’re absolutely right. This building was the first synagogue in Miami Beach. It was built in 1929.”

“Fascinating,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

“You must know a lot about the history of this place,” Sam replies, much more earnest in her interest than Dean had been.

“I sure do,” the guy holds a hand out to her. “I’m David Abrams. I’m the museum manager here. But I’m also the grandson of the last rabbi to lead this congregation before the building was converted.”

“Sam Win…berg,” Sam says as she shakes, remembering too late that Dean Winchester is a wanted criminal, and also they're supposed to be passing for Jewish. “Just a tourist.”

If David notices that she seems to forget her own last name halfway through, he’s too busy staring at her without blinking to say anything about it.

“And this must be your very lucky boyfriend,” he says, turning to Dean and offering to shake.

They’ve played a couple on more than one occasion, so Dean is about to go along with the cover story, but before he can respond, Sam immediately replies, “Oh, no. This is my brother, Dean.”

“That’s a relief,” David says. “I mean, uh.” He ducks his head and scratches at the back of his neck, overdoing it on the shy act, if you ask Dean. “Sorry. I don’t get a lot of chances to meet nice, Jewish girls.”

“You work at a Jewish history museum,” Dean interjects.

Sam shoots him a sour look, but to his disappointment, the nerd recovers way more smoothly than he expected. He smiles at Sam, looking bashful as he says, “Okay, I meet a lot of nice, Jewish girls, but none as pretty as you.”

She giggles as if that was clever, and David gestures toward the exhibit entrance. “I’d love to give you a private tour of the main exhibit, if you’d like. I’m on lunch.”

“Oh no,” Sam says. “We couldn’t possibly impose. It’ll take up your whole break.”

“I insist,” David says.

“Great.” Dean steps between them and grins at David like he _isn’t_ thinking of all the weapons in his trunk and how they could end this guy. “Lead the way.”

“Ah, right.” He smiles back awkwardly. “I definitely meant both of you.”

As soon as they’re at the door, David hangs back to hold it open, positioning himself next to Sam as she passes through. Dean overhears but is clearly excluded from their conversation. It doesn’t help that Sam is genuinely interested, two absolute geeks floating through a wonderland of obscure historical facts, which Dean would think is foreplay for Sam except that he knows better. Even for the sake of keeping his sister away from this smitten loser, he can’t fake interest in what they’re saying.

Within minutes, she’s got the guy wrapped around her finger in a way Dean hates to admit is impressive, finding the perfect balance between asking questions that help get them information that might be helpful for their hunt while keeping their guide engaged enough that he doesn’t realize he’s being grilled for information.

Dean wanders through the exhibit three times while Sam and David make it only halfway through before he sighs, checking his watch.

“I’m afraid I have to get back to work, but,” he shoves his hands in his pockets, “I hope you’ll join us for the candle lighting ceremony tonight. I’ll be reading one of the blessings and could use some help. Public speaking isn’t one of my strengths.”

“Shocker,” Dean mutters.

David either genuinely doesn’t hear it or is incredibly good at ignoring. He keeps his focus firmly fixed on Sam. “Maybe we could even go out to dinner beforehand. There’s a place down the street that makes incredible brisket. Everything kosher, of course. Unless you and your brother already have plans for the first night of Hanukah. I don’t mean to assume you don’t.”

“You know, I wish we could,” Dean says. “But there’s, you know, family stuff, and—”

“And Dean is all tied up,” Sam says, cutting him off. “But I’m free and I’d love to see you.”

David smiles like he just won the lottery, which, you know, in a way he did. To say Sam is out of his league is putting it mildly.

He tries to talk her out of going alone, but Sam is adamant. She heads out in the early evening, dolled up, and gets home well past midnight, her hair in disarray, makeup smudged, and a bruise on her neck that she didn’t get on any hunt.

“Oh, you’re still up,” she says, glancing at Dean as she kicks off her heels. “Good news, I got a lot of good information.”

“That wasn’t all you got,” Dean replies.

She seems to consider whether to respond to that or not and settles on Dean not being worth the trouble. “I’m pretty sure I know who the ghost is. Rabbi Abrams, David’s grandfather. Apparently his uncle and grandpa weren’t getting along toward the end of his days. The uncle kept calling the cops on folks who tried to sleep on the steps out front, instead of offering them food or shelter. The rabbi and his wife lost their synagogue in Poland during the Holocaust and it was a real point of pride to them that they never turned anyone away once they took over here. Their first born had other thoughts. He wanted to class up the building, make it into a museum.”

“I’m guessing that’s Daniel, our first victim?”

Sam nods. “Bingo.”

“Fantastic. We can burn the bones and get out of here.”

“I’m kind of worried David will be the next target. He’s tried to honor his grandparents’ traditions, but he is also pretty involved with the museum, and we both know ghosts don’t exactly see shades of gray once they get to the stage where they’re killing people.”

“All the more reason to finish the job quickly, then,” Dean says.

“David has the afternoon off tomorrow. I think I can get him to take me to the graves, save us some time there.”

“We never have too much trouble finding the right graves in a cemetery,” Dean reminds her. “The names are written in pretty big letters.”

“Sure, but we should really be sure it’s the right person before—”

“You just want an excuse to see him again,” Dean accuses. “You actually like that guy.”

“He’s cute,” Sam says, shrugging. “He’s got a kind face.”

The face Dean makes in response to that isn’t kind.

“Some girls like men who can hold a conversation, Dean.” Sam gives him her bitchiest smile. “Maybe not the ones you go after.”

“You fucked him,” Dean guesses. “One night of brisket and you gave it up, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Sam responds. “How is that your business?”

Dean shrugs. “You used to take months just to hold a girl’s hand back in high school. I thought you liked a little more connection in your relationships.”

“That’s because I didn’t want to fuck the girls.” Sam crosses her arms over her chest. “I was just trying to impress you. Had to think of you to get it up, too. Is that what you want for me?”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” Dean says. “But I know you and I know casual sex isn’t your style.”

“Maybe it is now! You’re one to judge.” Sam’s tone is ice. “I didn’t realize you bonded so much with that waitress last week between finishing your burger and the three slices of pie she brought you after you fucked her in the employee bathroom.”

“We’re different people,” he replies. “I’m just saying, you shouldn’t feel like you have to rush into something just to prove—”

“This is ridiculous,” Sam says. “I’m not gonna listen to this. When I was your little brother, it was ‘that’s my boy’ anytime I made it with a girl, but you expect your sister to abstain until marriage?”

“That’s not—”

“No?” Sam continues, bulldozing right over him. “Then what? Do you want to just admit you’re jealous? How do you think it felt for me, watching you and Cassie, knowing that you really loved her? It broke my fucking heart. But I wanted you to have that happiness. Why can’t I enjoy spending time with a nice guy who treats me like I’m special?”

"He’s not what you really wanted," Dean says weakly. 

"Tell me about it!" she agrees, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. "I haven't lied about what I want. I'd take you over him in a minute, Dean. I'd take you over anyone. But I can't have you."

"Someone else then, but someone you care about," Dean insists. “He’s no one to you.”

Sam tosses her hair back, laughing cruelly before leveling her eyes with Dean's. "Exactly. He wasn't my brother. That's all that matters to you, right? And he didn't tell me I was a mistake as soon as we were done, which is all that matters to me right now."

"I didn't say you were a mistake, Sammy."

"No, just the best thing that ever happened to me." He watches her jaw tighten as she turns her face away. "If you don't want me, that's your business. But who I fuck instead of you isn't."

She crosses the room then and leaves without another word. Dean expects to find her outside, by the impala letting off steam or maybe at the soda machine grabbing a peace offering, but there's no sign of her for hours. Not until he gets a text saying not to wait up.

She hardly looks at him the next morning as she gets in the car, accepting the cup of motel lobby coffee he grabbed for her without her usual thanks.

Their cemetery run turns out to be a waste of time. It’s actually a lucky thing after all that Sam kept them in town an extra night so she could escape into the arms of her dweeb boyfriend, because the ghost, it turns out, is not done. Now Tal Abrams, Daniel’s wife, has joined her husband on the list of victims.

Sam calls him from David’s bed after he takes off to deal with the loss to give Dean the update. They're back to square one. Either they burned the wrong bones, or there’s something else tying grandpa to that building.

The new plan is simple. Get into the museum, deactivate the security system, and find whichever item the rabbi is tied to. It’s a good plan. It goes sideways pretty much right away, and, surprise surprise, it’s David’s fault.

Sam has just managed to disable the alarm when the exhibit hall lights flicker on, and Dean, not expecting the sudden brightness, drops the flashlight he was holding for her.

“Hello,” comes David’s voice. “Who’s there?”

“What the hell is he doing here?” Dean hisses. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I guess he’s catching up on work,” Sam guesses. “What with the death, and, um, other distractions.”

“Great, so this is your fault.”

Sam steps on his foot way harder than she needs to, and when Dean isn’t able to completely stifle his response, David follows the sound to them, rounding the display cases and looking confused from Sam to Dean and back again.

“Sam?” he asks.

“I can explain,” she tells him.

“Can you? Because it looks an awful lot like you’re trying to orchestrate some kind of heist.”

“That’s a pretty fun explanation,” says Dean.

Before he can find out what bullshit excuse Sam was going to offer, the temperature drops dramatically and David’s mouth drops open as he stares past Sam and Dean. “Grandma?”

Dean tries to turn fast enough to fire a round off, but he’s being flung into a display case before he gets the chance. Sam shoots the spirit instead, and then she turns her attention to David.

“I need to know if there’s anything in the collection here that was special to her,” Sam demands. “I need to know right away.”

David’s still looking pretty thrown, but he runs his hand through his hair, obviously trying to pull himself together, and then shouts, “A mirror. A handheld mirror. It’s shaped like a flower. It’s the only thing she has from before the camps. It’s in the aisle on the right there, behind Dean.”

“Did you hear all of that, Dean?”

“Yeah.” Dean picks himself up off the floor and makes a run for the case, even as he yells. “Could be her bones, Sam. We burnt the wrong person.”

“Yeah, I get that. But right now the mirror is our best bet.”

Dean hears a crash behind him, but he can’t investigate. He has to smash through the protective case and get to that mirror.

“Jesus, ow,” Sam is saying when Dean finds the mirror and begins to prepare to strike. “She threw me and I lost my gun. Hurry up, Dean, or I’m dead.”

“Grandma,” he hears David cry out. “Grandma, please stop this. Don’t hurt her. I like her.”

To Dean’s surprise, everything seems to go calm across the room. He can’t pay a huge amount of attention. It’s loud work smashing his way to that mirror, and he prioritizes dropping it on the floor with a small pile of salt and adding a match.

There’s a familiar sound of a ghost dying.

Sam has her head bowed by the time Dean is done containing the fire. She’s standing in front of a shaken looking David. “I’m really sorry you had to see that, and that we wrecked your exhibit a little.”

“You had to, right? To stop her.” David shakes his head. “Grandma Ethel wasn’t like that. She was the gentlest soul I’ve ever known. She never would have killed her own son. She wouldn't even express displeasure over what Uncle Dan was doing like Grandpa did, though I could tell she wasn't happy about it.”

“Keeping quiet is probably why she couldn't move on,” Sam tells him. “Spirits that take their anger with them when they die, sometimes they lose everything except for that anger. She wasn’t in control of herself.”

“But she didn’t hurt me,” he points out. “And she stopped hurting you.”

“That just goes to show how much she loved you,” Sam says softly. “You helped her find her way back to who she was in life. You helped her find peace.”

“And you killed her,” David says, looking up at Dean.

“Don’t rush to thank me,” Dean responds.

David smiles at him and then at Sam. “I am grateful. For what you’ve both done.”

Sam steps toward him. “David, I have to come clean about something.”

“You’re not Jewish,” he guesses.

She nods. "What gave it away? Is it because I said Jesus when I she threw me into the wall? Because anything said mid-ghost attack shouldn't count."

To Dean’s surprise, the guy actually laughs at her joke instead of acting betrayed. “Honestly, I kind of suspected it days ago. You called the sufganiyot ‘doughnut holes.’ And your Hebrew when we were reading that blessing was _terrible_.”

Sam smiles, blushing. “Bet you regretted asking for my help.”

“I don’t regret anything about getting to know you,” he says, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re the kind of shiska temptress my mother always warned me about.”

“I am sorry we lied to you,” she tells him. “I don’t like doing it, but—”

“If you’d told me you needed to burn a piece of my collection to kill my grandmother’s ghost, I would have called security pretty quickly.”

David is infuriatingly reasonable, still looking at Sam like she hung the moon, with a little hero worship mixed in, despite all the deceit. Dean really hates this guy.

“This is going to be a nightmare to clean,” he says, looking around. “I don’t think I want to deal with it. So I’m going to go home and go to sleep for now, unless you want to join me one last time.”

Sam grins but shakes her head. “I think my brother and I should get going. You’ll need to call an insurance company tomorrow and we usually don’t hang around for investigations.”

“That’s fair.” David gestures to the door and they all funnel out. As he’s parting with them outside on the street he tells Sam, “You shouldn’t pretend he’s your brother, you know, even if you need to flirt with someone for intel. It only makes the jealousy weirder.”

Sam smiles at Dean once they’re alone again and over the hood of the car says, “Did you hear that? No one’s buying that you’re just my brother.”

It’s the nightmares that bring them back together, but they aren't only Sam's. They’ve been keeping their separate beds since that night things went too far between them, but after the case with Max Miller, Sam starts losing sleep again. Dean loses sleep over her losing sleep. Neither of them is especially sharp, and sloppy hunts are not the way their daddy raised them.

Dean breaks first this time, when he gets Sam back from those freaks who stole her from him and tried to hunt her for sport. Sam is missing for too many hours before he finds her in that cage, whole, and then they almost take her from him again. It's Dean's worst nightmare, and he lives through it so many times in one day that by the nighttime, all he can see is how wrong things nearly went.

He stumbles to her bed that night, trying to outrun his own nightmares for a change. Sam doesn’t push him away. She whispers sweet things and combs her fingers through his hair until he drifts off to sleep, and it would be so selfish of Dean to refuse her that same comfort when her dreams are starting to come to life, haunting her by day just as much as the monsters they chase.

She sleeps better when she’s with him. She smiles easier when she's well-rested. Whatever dark force seems to be tightening its noose around them, it’s easier to forget for a few minutes at a time when he starts the day with the smell of his little sister’s fruity shampoo in his nose.

If what Sam needs is to be loved, Dean can give her that. Dean would give his soul if that was what she needed.


End file.
